


green eyes (I'd run away with you)

by moonybloom



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 22x20, It's an AU where they do hot yoga if you haven't caught that yet, M/M, Sub Harry, Uni AU, and louis works at toys r us, but they're all still idiots, drugs tw, harry is a huge stupid hipster, hot yoga au, like just a lil pot but still, none of the boys are famous, there are a lot of headbands in this fic, yoga au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:44:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1420135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonybloom/pseuds/moonybloom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s been nine solid months since Louis Tomlinson was last laid, ten since was sucked off, and thirteen since he was in anything remotely resembling a serious relationship. He can’t decide which of the three he misses most. Mind you, he doesn’t fancy himself someone who needs to be tethered to another person in order to be happy, and in fact wouldn’t even be bothered by his own singlehood had his flat-mate not burst into his bedroom suddenly with a scowl and a handful of pamphlets."</p><p>...or, the one where Liam and Zayn force Louis to pick up a hobby, and in the process he finds Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tomlegson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomlegson/gifts), [dinglehoppersaplenty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinglehoppersaplenty/gifts).



It’s been nine solid months since Louis Tomlinson was last laid, ten since was sucked off, and thirteen since he was in anything remotely resembling a serious relationship. He can’t decide which of the three he misses most. Mind you, he doesn’t fancy himself someone who needs to be tethered to another person in order to be happy, and in fact wouldn’t even be bothered by his own singlehood had his flat-mate not burst into his bedroom suddenly with a scowl and a handful of pamphlets.

“I’m putting my foot down,” he says, dropping the glossy brochures into Louis’ lap where he’s sat upon the floor in his low-slung joggers and nothing else, spread out across a dilapidated bean bag playing what may or may not be his seventh consecutive hour of FIFA. “You’re either getting a boyfriend or a hobby, and preferably both. I’m bloody sick and tired of your moping, Lou.”

Pausing the game, Louis arches a single eyebrow as he flicks disinterestedly through the pamphlets in his lap, studying the titles. “Archery classes?” he asks, throwing Liam a half-fond, half-exasperated look. “ _Basket weaving?_ Where did you even get these?” He watches as his flat-mate pushes a pile of dirty laundry to the floor and sits at the end of Louis’ unmade bed. “And I’m not moping, you fuck. I haven’t bothered you all day, so I don’t even know what you’re on about.”

“That’s exactly it!” Liam exclaims, gesturing wildly with his hands. “You haven’t bothered me all _week_ , so either you’re moping or you’re mad at me—” he brandishes a finger dramatically and barrels on before Louis can protest. “—and I know for a fact it’s not the latter because you keep making me tea every morning, and last time we had a row you pointedly poured the leftover boiling water down the drain after drinking your own for a month straight.”

Louis purses his lips, lining the stack of brochures up neatly and handing them back to Liam. “You can’t honestly think that picking up some sodding hobby I have absolutely no interest in is going to fix things,” he says, picking up his controller again and un-pausing the game in an attempt to signal that he’s finished with the conversation. But Liam, as usual, doesn’t take the hint.

“First, you’re admitting that there are things to fix, so obviously I’m right. Second, I went all the way to the stupid community centre this morning and hand-selected these pamphlets for you—”

(“You bloody _work_ at the community centre,” Louis grumbles, but Liam, as usual, continues on.)

“—so you’d better well read them or I’m giving up on you. You’re never going to meet anyone holed up in your room, you know.” He dumps the stack in Louis’ lap again, this time dropping them straight on top of the other boy’s hands as he misses a goal and curses loudly.

“Mate, I’m _not_ taking up basket weaving. And I’m perfectly happy holed up in my room, but thanks for your concern,” Louis says through gritted teeth, taking a deep breath for effect before shucking the pamphlets onto the floor and continuing with his match. He glues his eyes to the screen as Liam bends over to scoop up the scattered leaflets.

“It doesn’t have to be basket weaving, we’ll throw that one out. What about this, though? I bet you’d be good at golfing,” Liam says as he holds up a thin pamphlet with a photograph of a middle–aged man in a polo shirt and khakis on the front.

“I’m not golfing, either.” Louis had tried once before, and ended up leaving the course after only an hour with nothing to show for his efforts other than a sour mood and grass stains on the knees of his brand new white pants.

“What about diving? You could take diving lessons or—”

“I’m going to punch you straight in the bollocks.”

“—you could take a cooking class! How fun does that sound?”

“ _Liam._ ”

“Alright, alright, no cooking.” Liam rifles through the pamphlets for a moment before holding up another one. “But how do you feel about rock climbing?”

Louis is entirely prepared to slap the brochures straight out of Liam’s hands when he hears the lock at the front of the flat click, and the door swing open. “Hello?” he calls; grateful for any sort of distraction the universe is willing to offer him. Honestly, he’s even ready to welcome a burglar with open arms at this point, as long as it gets Liam to stop harassing him.

“’s only me,” a rough voice carries down the hallway, and Louis hears his other flat-mate Zayn drop his keys on the kitchen counter and toe off his shoes before padded footsteps make their way toward his room. Zayn appears a moment later looking slightly disheveled but still put-together, running a hand through his dark hair as he leans on the doorframe, leather jacket hanging from one shoulder and a smirk on his lips. “I see Liam’s shown you his pamphlets, then,” he teases.

“Yeah, and I’m about ready to choke him on them if he doesn’t leave me alone,” Louis snaps, cursing under his breath as he misses another goal and throwing his controller on the ground.

Liam huffs exasperatedly, looking to Zayn for help. “I’m only trying to be useful, here. Back me up! You were saying just last night how Lou needs to get off his fat bum and meet someone before he withers away and dies.”

“Hey!” Louis cries, sitting up straight and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “My bum isn’t fat.”

Zayn offers him a sympathetic look. “It’s a little bit fat, mate.”

“I bet rock climbing would help whip you into shape,” Liam offers cheekily, holding up another pamphlet. Louis knocks it out of his hands and watches it flutter to the floor with narrowed eyes. 

***

Three days later and the thought of finding something—someone—still hasn’t left him. He had locked Liam and Zayn out of his room after they started waxing sentimental about the benefits club football might have on the size of his arse, but still hadn’t been able to sleep that night from thinking about what they had said.

 _A boyfriend or a hobby_.

Louis supposes that in a way, they’re the same thing. He’s six hours into an all-day cashier shift but his mind is a million miles away from work. The Toys R Us where he’s held his longest-running job to date is practically barren, which is pretty typical for a Monday. Louis wants nothing more than to be at home with his shirt off, playing video games.

A customer walks up to his lane and he puts on the biggest smile that he can muster.

“How can I help you?” he asks with a sickly sweet cheeriness that he hopes doesn’t sound forced.

Unfortunately, the customer isn’t nearly as friendly as he is and launches immediately into a tirade about how he can’t find the right color furby for his daughter and honestly, how hard is it to keep furbies stocked, you work at a bloody toy store it’s not like your job is that hard?

Louis purses his lips and blinks his way through the man’s speech about the “lazy, good-for-nothing kids working retail these days”, tuning him out about halfway through and watching tiny drops of spittle fall from the man’s cracked, dry lips instead. A few years ago Louis would have probably launched over the counter and knocked him flat on the ground, or at least stood up for himself—but growing up (and, if he’s being honest, getting sacked from three consecutive customer-service jobs) has made him a more patient man. So instead, he waits until he’s sure the other man is finished speaking and smiles again.

“I’m sorry to hear that your experience here today was unsatisfactory,” he says in a robotic voice, calling to mind the training he received when he accepted the job. “I can check our inventory in the back room for you, which would only take a few minutes, or I can redirect you to our website where you can order the item for delivery.”

The man looks like he’s about to continue complaining, so Louis cuts him off before he can begin again. “I can also provide you with a coupon code for five percent off your total and free shipping, as an apology for the inconvenience.”

As usual, the promise of saving money shuts the customer up. Louis writes down the information for him on a strip of receipt paper and sends him on his way with a smile and a curt wave.

“Well aren’t you bloody charming,” says a teasing voice. Louis turns back from the door to see a mop-haired boy leaning with his elbows on the conveyor belt of his lane, grinning face cupped in his hands.

“Piss off, Stan,” Louis says, reaching out to pinch his friend on the arm playfully. “You know how hard that stuff is for me.”

“I’m being serious, though! I’m proud of you; you’re a big man and all that.”

“I just don’t want to get sacked again,” Louis grumbles.

“And I don’t want you to get sacked either. This place would be bloody boring without you.”

Louis laughs, flicking the switch under his counter to turn on the conveyor belt and watching as Stan jumps back in surprise when the surface below him starts moving. “This place is bloody boring anyway,” Louis says with a smirk.

“He speaks the truth,” calls the bleach-blonde cashier a few lanes over as she picks absently at her nails. Stan snorts with laughter.

“What time are you off then, Lou?” he asks, leaning on the red plastic countertop at the end of the conveyor belt instead.

“I’m closing,” Louis responds, sounding despondent even to his own ears. “Why?”

“Wanted to see if you’d come to the pub with me s’all. I’m about to clock out. Any plans later?”

Louis waves a hand at Stan to get him off his lane as a customer approaches with an armful of board games. “None at all,” he tells his friend as the woman begins setting the games down on the belt and rifling through her purse distractedly. “Liam dropped me off earlier, come and scoop me up ‘round eight thirty?” Stan salutes him sloppily in confirmation and heads to the back room to clock out as Louis rings up the woman’s items. 

“Hello!” Louis chimes cheerily as he spots a little blonde girl with a tiger on her shirt clutching the woman’s pant leg tightly, her other fist clenched around a tattered yellow baby blanket. “That’s an awfully cool shirt you’ve got there,” he tells her, smiling warmly as her eyes bug out at the realization that she’s being addressed. She side-steps closer to her mother and peers around her pant-leg at Louis, holding the blanket tighter to her chest.

“She’s a bit shy,” the mother says affectionately, finally fishing her wallet out of her purse and taking out her credit card. She looks down at the little girl with a soft smile on her face. “Why don’t you say thank you, Joanie?”

Joanie’s eyes get even wider and she bites her bottom lip, looking back and forth from her mother to Louis warily. Louis can feel his eyes crinkling at the edges as his smile grows, and the look of concern melts slowly off the little girl’s face.

“Thank you,” she says softly, still holding tight to both her mother’s pant leg and the yellow blanket. From the worn-out look of it, Louis has a feeling she never puts it down.

Bagging the items up while the woman swipes her credit card, Louis takes note of the titles of the games.

“Chutes and ladders is one of my favorites,” he tells Joanie. “Though I’m not very good at it, I bet you could beat me.”

The little girl smiles widely and side-steps a tiny bit away from her mother. “I’m really good,” she says proudly. “We bought these for kids whose mummies and daddies don’t have money for games,” she continues on, puffing her chest out a little bit.

The woman smiles as Louis carefully hands her two bags full of board games. “There’s a toy-drive at the community centre,” she explains. “Joanie and I like to give what we can, right Joanie?”

“Right!” the little girl chirps.

“Well aren’t you a little superhero!” Louis says fondly, tearing the woman’s receipt from the printer and handing it to her. He opens the drawer by his hip and pulls out a sticker with a smiling yellow face and the words, “I was a big helper today!” on it. Walking out from behind the counter, he kneels down closer to Joanie’s height and holds out the sticker. “Why don’t you take this?” he asks.

Joanie’s face lights up as she lets go of her mom’s pant leg for the first time and takes the sticker. “Thank you!” she says again, looking to her mother and waving the sticker in her fist excitedly. The woman smiles as Louis stands up and walks back behind the counter.

“You’re very welcome,” he says, “you deserved it! I hope you both have a wonderful day.” Louis waves as the woman leads her daughter out of the store, her bags in one hand and Joanie’s tiny, sticker-clutching fist in the other. Joanie skips out the door, humming a mindless tune and Louis is reminded that sometimes, his job isn’t nearly as miserable as he thinks it is.

***

Five hours later though, and Louis is ready to give up on holding a job and just lay down on the floor instead. Traffic through the store was pretty light throughout the afternoon but increased steadily as the day wore on. At 20:01 he had to chase a flock of mischievous kids, mysteriously sans their parents, out from where they were hiding in the sporting goods section before locking the front doors and walking to the customer service desk to turn off the computer.

He’s finishing up counting the drawers when he hears a soft tapping on the glass front doors. Louis closes up the last register and walks back toward the front of the store, ready to point out the sign with their hours on it to the apparently confused customer when he sees a familiar grinning face. He lets out a huff as he holds up one finger, mouthing “give me a mo’,” and rushes back to clock out and grab his jacket. Turning the lights off as he goes, Louis heads out the front door and double-checks that it’s still locked behind him.

“Bloody sick and tired of closing,” he mumbles as he climbs into the passenger side of Stan’s car, alone in the empty parking lot. Louis perks up a bit when he notices the unlit spliff hanging from Stan’s lips, a crooked smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “But I suppose that makes everything better, don’t it?”

Stan grins as he pulls a yellow Bic from his pocket and lights the end of the carefully-rolled paper, sucking the smoke into his lungs and holding it for a few beats before breathing it out the side of his mouth. He inhales and exhales the thick smoke a few more times before plucking the spliff from his lips and handing it to Louis, starting his car up and pulling out from his parking spot.

Stan turns onto the main road as Louis greedily sucks in a few mouthfuls of smoke, closing his eyes and slouching further into his seat as he starts to feel a buzzing in his head. “Where we headed?” he asks, taking one more drag from the spliff before handing it back to Stan.

“Thought we’d go to the Old Bank? I’m feeling rather fancy tonight,” he says, his voice muffled a bit around a mouthful of smoke. The juxtaposition of his words and his actions pulls a giggle from Louis’ throat and Stan laughs with him. “’m guessing that’s a yes from you, then?”

“Yeah, alright,” Louis says happily, looking out the window at the pink sky and the setting sun as they stop at a traffic light. A minute later, Stan reaches over to hand him the spliff again but Louis just lets his mouth fall open and waits for his friend to place the slightly damp paper between his lips. Stan huffs out a laugh as he obliges, before knocking Louis on the shoulder playfully and turning left onto a side-street. They drive in silence for a bit, passing the spliff back and forth a couple of times as the sun hangs lower and lower in the sky.

Turning onto the street behind the pub a few minutes later, the spliff is nearing its end and Louis takes a few deep drags before grabbing an empty cup off the messy floor of the car and using it to put out the burning tip. He folds the leftover paper over on itself and reaches over to tuck it in the pocket of Stan’s jeans. “For later,” he teases as he pats his friend’s thigh lovingly.

They pull into a parking lot behind the pub and snag a spot among the sea of cars, not surprised to find the place already crowded. They climb out of the car on opposite sides and Louis giggles as smoke billows out from behind him. “Oops!” he says, waving his arms a bit to disperse the cloud as he shuts the car door.

“I’m so bloody hungry,” he whines as they walk toward the pub, rubbing his stomach lightly. “I barely got a lunch break earlier because Marla didn’t show up and I had to cover her shift.”

Stan pats him on the back as they enter the building, the noise of the pub forcing him to speak up a bit. “We’ll get some meat in you before you drink then,” he says, and Louis snorts with laughter at the double entendre. “Not like that you big pouf,” Stan mocks, and they find two open barstools at the end of the busy counter.

Sitting down, Louis waves his hand to get the attention of one of the servers. A tall, lanky, brown-haired man who Louis doesn’t recognize (though he hardly comes to the Old Bank enough to be on first-name terms with the servers) walks their way with a rag in his hand and a smile on his face.

“Hey there,” he says, and Louis isn’t sure if he’d be thinking this sober but the man’s voice sounds like silk. “Name’s Nick. What can I do you for tonight?”

Louis grins, slow and sloppy, and leans his elbows on the counter top. “Get me one of your steak and ale pies and a pint of London Porter, please,” he says, batting his eyelashes a bit as the man smirks and nods his head.

“And for you?” Nick asks, turning to Stan who begins rambling about how he’s not quite sure what he’s feeling tonight, because you’ve sort of got to be in the right mood for certain beers, yeah? Nick nods along knowingly and Louis tunes them out, used to Stan’s indecisiveness after nearly twenty years of friendship. He lets his head roll back on his neck and studies the elaborate designs on the golden ceiling above him. The pub is decked out in warm hues and it makes Louis feel content and a little bit sleepy. But then again, that could also be the pot.

Stan finally decides on a brew and Nick is off to enter their order into the computer when Louis looks down to see a sneaky smile on his friend’s face.

“Trying to chat up the bartender?” Stan asks, and Louis rolls his eyes. “He seems like your type, yeah? You’ve always been into tall brunettes.”

Shrugging, Louis picks at the skin around his thumbnail absently. “If I can get better service by batting my eyelashes, then why not,” he says. He looks over to where Nick is filling their pints across the bar and lowers his voice a bit. “He is cute though, yeah.”

Louis pouts and picks a bit harder at his skin, a nervous habit that by he’s had since before he can remember. “Stan,” he starts, shooting his friend a glance before looking back at his hands. “Mate, d’you think I need a boyfriend?”

Stan laughs and Louis wishes he could take his words back. “Do _you_ think you need a boyfriend?” he asks amusedly. Louis shrugs again and bites his bottom lip.

“’s been awhile, you know? Liam and Zayn brought it up the other day. Li’s trying to get me a boyfriend or a hobby ‘cause he says I’m useless.”

“You do play an awful lot of FIFA.”

“Well I’m bloody good at FIFA! And you play it too,” Louis retorts as Nick returns with a grin and two overflowing pints. Louis wonders idly if he could hear their conversation, shooting him a small smile as he walks over to take someone else’s order.

“I know that,” Stan says, cupping his hands around his glass and leaning over to suck the foam off the top of his beer. Louis cringes at that, grabbing his own pint by the handle and taking a sloppy sip. “But I dunno mate, no one knows you better than yourself, ya know?”

Louis nods and puts his glass down. “I know, I know. I guess I just hadn’t really been thinking about it before? But now that Liam’s brought it up it’s pretty much all that’s been on my mind.” He covers his face with his hands and lets out a deep breath. “Bloody hell, that’s pathetic. Maybe I do need a hobby.”

“A hobby or a boyfriend,” Stan laughs, and Louis pulls his hands off his face dramatically, letting his head fall forward with a dull _thunk_ against the counter top.

“A hobby or a boyfriend,” he agrees.

***

Louis stumbles into his flat around two in the morning after six pints and an ongoing pep-talk from Stan. Too drunk to drive, they had left Stan’s car at the pub and caught a cab home. Running his hand through his hair as he toes his black Vans off his tired feet, Louis tries and fails to stifle a yawn with his other hand.

“What time is it?” Zayn asks softly, stretching his arms above his head where he’s spread out on the couch in front of the dim light of the muted television. Louis has a feeling he fell asleep watching some obscure historical documentary again, a habit that Zayn seems to have picked up sometime during the last year.

“’s close to two,” Louis says, padding over to the couch and nudging Zayn’s legs with his knee to get him to move over. Zayn curls up on the end of the couch and Louis plops down, sinking into the soft cushions. “What’re you watching?”

“I don’t even know anymore, mate. Last I saw it was a piece about Hitler’s Youth but I think that’s been over for a while now,” he says, pausing mid-sentence to yawn without bothering to cover his mouth. “Take it you had a good night, then?”

Louis sighs. “Work was bloody exhausting but Stan took me to the pub after and smoked me out, so it wasn’t half bad.” Zayn smiles warmly and closes his eyes again. Louis guesses that he probably won’t make it to his bed tonight.

“I told him Li’s been trying to get me out of the house and he seemed to agree that it was a good idea,” he says, pouting a bit at the memory. “Everyone’s ganging up on me.”

Zayn laughs softly, his eyes still closed. “We’re just trying to make sure you’re happy and healthy, mate,” he says. “We’ll leave you alone if you really want. Well, I will. And I’ll try to get Liam to.”

“Not sure if that’s possible,” Louis sighs, and Zayn laughs again.

“Have you ever thought about taking up yoga?” Zayn asks suddenly, opening his eyes and sounding a bit more alert.

Shrugging, Louis looks up at the ceiling. “D’you think I should?” he asks.

“I mean, I’ve been going to that hot yoga place for a few weeks now and I’m really enjoying it,” Zayn says. “The heat loosens my muscles up and it’s always nice to get a good stretch. I feel a lot less stressed afterwards.” Poking Louis in the leg, Zayn lowers his voice dramatically. “And, y’know, there’re a lot of cute lads in yoga pants, so that’s a plus.”

Louis barks out a laugh. “Oh yeah?” he asks. His brain tells him he should be embarrassed at how fast he replied, but he’s a bit too drunk to care right now.

“Yeah,” Zayn confirms. “There’s actually a tall guy with a mess of brown hair I think you’d like. Can’t remember his name right now, but I think he’s a regular.”

Louis mulls over the thought in his head for a minute, and he and Zayn fall into a comfortable silence. He’s never given thought to yoga before, but it sounds easy enough and far more interesting than bloody basket weaving. He can imagine it’d be good for him, especially considering how long it’s been since he last went to the gym.

“I don’t know any yoga though,” he blurts out suddenly.

Zayn shuffles a bit next to him and hugs a throw pillow to his chest. “Yeah, but s’not hard,” he says. “I can teach you some basics.”

“Like what?” Louis asks, lolling his head to the side and looking at Zayn.

“Like… alright, stand up,” Zayn says, pushing Louis lightly until he obliges. He feels silly standing in the middle of the dark living room at two in the morning, but follows Zayn’s directions anyway.

“Now kneel down and sit back on your heels—yeah, like that but open your legs a bit—and bend forward with your arms stretched out in front of you so your forehead rests on the floor.”

Louis clumsily follows his instructions, getting into position and waiting for more directions. He crinkles his nose as the scent of his own beer breath bounces off the thick beige carpet under his face. “Now what?” he asks, feeling a bit stupid.

“That’s it,” Zayn slurs tiredly, and Louis has a feeling he’s beginning to fall back asleep. “’s child’s pose.”

“This is a yoga pose?” Louis asks disbelievingly. Zayn laughs quietly and Louis looks up from the carpet to find him stretched out over the length of the couch again.

“I told you it wasn’t hard,” he says, and Louis rolls over, pushing himself up off the floor. “You’ll be a natural in no time. Come with me tomorrow, new people show up all the time so you won’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself.”

“What time? I work until close again.”

“Perfect, just head downtown after you get off, there’s a class that starts at nine,” Zayn says, slow and sleepy. “Your first time is free; I can text you the directions tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Louis says as he walks over to the television set and turns it off. “We’ll talk about it more in the morning, then? You can show me a few more poses?”

Zayn doesn’t respond and Louis realizes that he’s already fallen back asleep.

***

And that’s how Louis finds himself standing in front of the Bikram Yoga studio on the corner of Vandon Street with a brand new, sticky black floor mat rolled up and slung under his armpit. He went to the store before his work shift and spent far too long wandering around the yoga aisle with a confused look on his face, trying to figure out what he would need for class. He settled on buying a mat, a new water bottle, and a small orange sweat towel. Zayn hadn’t had the time to teach him any more poses, but promised that Louis would be just fine.

Entering the building, he immediately notices that the humidity level in the lobby is higher than it was outside. A thin, blonde girl is standing behind a counter at the end of the room with a smile on her face and her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.

“How can I help you?” she asks as Louis approaches the counter.

“I’m here for the nine o’ clock class?” he says, slightly unsure of himself. The girl nods though and it makes him feel a bit more confident. “It’s my first time doing yoga, my friend Zayn told me he’d meet me here.”

The girl hands him a clipboard with a sign-up sheet on it, an uncapped ballpoint pen hanging from a foot-long length of twine tied to the top. He notices that Zayn’s name isn’t on the sheet, yet—he must still be on his way. Louis writes down his name, number, and email address while the girl starts talking.

“Well I’m glad you decided to join us! Tonight’s class is a slow burn lesson so I’m sure you’ll have no trouble keeping up.”

Louis raises his eyebrows as he hands back the clipboard. “Slow burn? That sounds dangerous,” he jokes, and the girl laughs as she shakes her head.

“Not at all!” she says. “It’s just what we call our slower-paced classes. Some of the lessons are more intensive and cardio-based, but this one just focuses on loosening up your muscles and getting a good stretch.”

“Yeah, that’s what Zayn said.”

“You have a water bottle, right? That’s important; it gets pretty hot in there.”

Louis holds up his green water bottle and shakes it around a bit, the water sloshing back and forth in the inch of empty space at the top.

“Alright then, you’re all set! You can leave your stuff out here if you want, there’s always someone watching the lobby during classes. The room is down that hall to your left.”

Nodding his thanks, Louis steps out of his shoes and places them at the foot of a metal coat rack, hanging his jacket up. He had brought a pair of black joggers and a t shirt to work and changed into them in the bathroom after closing. He walks down the hallway, reaching the door at the end and wondering how many people he’s going to find on the other side.

The door swings swiftly shut behind him and Louis feels a cool breeze sweep across his ankles with the force of it. The first thing he notices, of course, is the temperature. The humidity is even stronger than in the lobby and it hits him like a thick blanket over his entire body. He thinks, eyelids drooping a bit, that perhaps he shouldn’t have worn so many clothes.

Zayn had mentioned that the room would be kept at a steady forty degrees for the duration of the class, but it hadn’t quite registered to him just how hot that was until this moment. He wipes the back of his hand absently across his forehead and knows that he’ll be sweating within the next five minutes. He wishes he’d brought something to keep his hair out of his eyes.

Louis stands in the doorway, eyes scanning the dimly-lit room of bodies stretched out over a sea of colorful yoga mats, some flat on their backs with their eyes closed and others bent in half at the waist, reaching toward their pointed toes. The mats are haphazardly organized into two rows on the dark wooden floor and the front wall is one long mirror, at the center of which sits a man with shoulder-length dreads pulled back into a thick ponytail. Louis recognizes him as the instructor from Zayn’s stories. The back and side walls are lined every few feet with wicker baskets filled with towels, foam blocks, and long black straps coiled into tight circles. Louis wonders vaguely what the straps are for but has to snap his attention away from the baskets before his thoughts wander into inappropriate territories.

His vision hasn’t quite adjusted yet and his feet start down the aisle way between rows before his brain can catch up. It hits him halfway across the room that he has no idea where to lay his mat. He eyes the bodies on the floor and tries to find an open spot, but the room is so dark and his feet are moving so fast that he reaches the far wall with absolutely no clue what to do.

He starts to panic a bit when he realizes that the only open spots in the room are far behind him, and turns awkwardly to face the door. A few faces look up from their positions disinterestedly and he feels his heart rate pick up just enough to notice. Having eyes on him is usually something he adores, but with the wet heat of the room pressing down on his chest it almost feels like suffocating. He tries to regain his footing with a joke but his brain is still lagging a bit and all that comes out of his mouth is an inelegant huff.

One of the bodies at the front of the room seems to notice and take pity though, curly-haired head bobbing up from where he’s kneeling in child’s pose to look in Louis’ direction. If he thought the room was warm before, he was entirely unprepared for the heat that creeps up his neck when the boy—curls held back with a thin headband—locks his green eyes onto Louis’ own, a smile slipping slow and heady up his sinfully pink lips.

He rests on all fours, bum close to the ground, and Louis wonders dryly if he’s doing it on purpose; flexed arms supporting his upper body as he quirks his eyebrows amusedly and nods at the open space next to his magenta mat. Relieved and a tiny bit awed, Louis ambles back to the center of the room and unrolls his stiff black mat in the gap between the boy’s and the instructor’s. Unsure of what to do with his body, he settles into a cross-legged position and glances back to the curly-haired boy next to him.

Curly’s smile crawls even higher up his lips as he sits back on his calves, abandoning child’s pose altogether. Louis’ eyes trail down to the open V of his legs and his chest thumps a bit when he notices the painfully tiny white running shorts he’s wearing, dark wispy hairs peeking out the bottoms and sprinkling across his pale, strong thighs.

“Hi,” he says, suddenly aware of how his eyes are still trained downward and snapping his gaze back to amused, glittering green.

“You’ll probably not want to wear those,” Curly says back, nodding toward Louis’ legs and letting his own gaze linger for a moment longer than necessary.

Louis laughs, looking at his joggers and raising an eyebrow coyly. “Sorry mate, I left my daisy dukes at home,” he teases with a pointed glance at the other boy’s shorts.

Louis wishes he could take a snapshot of the way Curly’s green eyes widen, rosy lips parting in surprise at the joke. You know, for reasons.

“I meant your socks, though,” he says, quirking his head to the side as if not quite sure what to make of Louis, who feels his face flush even more than before.

“Oh!” Louis quickly backtracks, suddenly dedicating all of his attention to toeing off his ankle socks. “I thought I might need ‘em? Someone told me it was like, courtesy to wear socks and I just…” he balls them up and tosses them gently to the foot of his mat, his voice softening as he realizes that no one else in the room is talking. “Nevermind. Thanks for the tip.”

Curly barks out a laugh as he fondly watches Louis struggle with his socks. “Not a problem. Some people find it easier to wear ‘em, but personally I like to be barefoot. ‘Specially if it’s your first time, not wearing socks helps you grip the mat better so you don’t fall over and—this is your first time, right?” Suddenly, he looks worried. “Sorry, I just assumed because you’re new and all, didn’t mean to tell you what to do—”

Louis cuts him off before he can continue to apologize, regaining his confidence a bit at the implication that he isn’t the only one stumbling over his own words. Even though he seems to be rushing to correct himself, Curly's voice is slow and Louis wonders if it's the heat in the room or if he always talks like that. “Don’t worry about it mate, you were right. Now, I usually don’t take direction from cute curly-headed boys—” Curly blushes at this, biting his plump lower lip in what appears to be a stifled grin. ( _Well then_ , at least Louis can confirm that they play for the same team now, though if he’s being honest the tiny white running shorts gave it away.) “—but as you could tell, I am monumentally lost, so I’ll make an exception just this once. You strike me as a bit of an expert.”

Curly smiles again and Louis wishes he could take a snapshot of that, too. “Not an expert by any means, but I am a regular here so I’ll help you with what I can,” he says, slow and sincere but with a hint of something teasing. Even though Louis can already feel sweat pooling behind his knees and at the base of his spine, he feels suddenly grateful for his previously-regretted decision of wearing baggy black joggers, because the words go straight to his dick.

“Alright then,” comes a deep voice from Louis’ right, and he turns to face the instructor along with the rest of the room. Dreads rises from his mat, clapping his hands together and turning his back to the mirror. Louis’s eyes drop to the reflection of his firm calf muscles and wonders if everyone else in the studio is as fit as he and Curly are. At that thought he chances a curious look to the back row, in which he spots Zayn almost instantly now that his eyes have adjusted to the low light. He must have snuck in while Louis was talking to Curly.

Catching his flat-mate’s worried eye, Louis shoots him a forgiving smile because hey, he couldn’t really complain about the way things had worked out when he got to stand two feet from a beautiful boy, could he? He turns back to the front of the room as Dreads addresses the class.

“Welcome back, to those familiar faces I see! And to those of you who are new, it’s good to have you,” he says, voice smooth and commanding. Louis swears he shoots him a knowing smirk and feels uncertainty in the pit of his stomach when he realizes that everyone in the room probably heard him flirting shamelessly. “A regular”, Curly had said. They probably all know him, then. Louis wonders if they’re used to him seducing newcomers, and suddenly feels very small.

He cranes his neck to follow Dreads as he pads (barefoot as well, Louis notices) across the room to plug something into a set of black speakers lining the far wall. Soft guitar music starts playing and Louis lets his eyes droop closed as he recognizes the tune.

“There are quite a few beginners today so we’ll be taking it a bit slower. Feel free to relax in child’s pose or leave the room if you start to feel light headed—we don’t want anyone passing out in here.” Dreads chuckles at this, and Louis wonders what exactly about that sentence was funny. He hadn’t even thought about passing out before, but now it’s all that’s on his mind—what if the heat becomes too much and he faints in front of Curly? Louis crinkles his nose at the thought. He’s quite positive he’d have to find a new hobby, after that.

“Take a moment to center yourself,” the instructor continues, and Louis hears his steadily approaching footsteps stop at the center of the room again. “Inhale deeply, let the air fill your lungs, and feel your stomach expanding—hold for a count of three and then exhale. Push the breath from your body gently, count to three, and then inhale again…”

Louis falls quickly into the pattern of breathing deeply, sucking hot air through his slightly chapped lips and feeling his stomach rise and fall with each breath. He focuses on the soft music as Dreads’ soothing voice guides him through a few simple stretches.

“Alright, now I want all of you to take a step forward with your right foot and turn to the left,” Dreads instructs, and Louis opens his eyes to make sure that he stays balanced as he follows the orders. He turns with the rest of the room and lets his gaze fall down Curly’s back, over his bum, and come to rest on his pale calf muscles smattered with dark hair. He hopes, as he follows Dreads’ directions on how to position his feet and arms, that all of the poses require him to turn to his left—he could get used to this view.

The class is somehow both easier and harder than he expected it to be, at the same time. The poses are simple and he finds that Zayn was right about how good it feels to stretch in a hot room; but his balance is a bit off and the temperature starts to get him feeling rather hazy near the end of the hour. He’s balancing in tree pose—one foot tucked against his opposite knee like a flamingo with his hands clasped above his head as if he were about to dive into a pool—when he starts to feel like perhaps he should take a break.

Putting both feet back on the mat, Louis reaches down to snag his half-empty water bottle and uncaps it to take a long swig. He eyes the clock and notices that there’s only five minutes left of the class. He sets his water bottle back down and raises his other leg up this time, stretching into tree pose again and taking a few deep breaths, feeling the muscles in his thighs and back pull slightly.

“And with that last big stretch,” Dreads says softly after a few more moments have passed, “we’ll end our practice today. I want everyone to lay back on their mats for a few minutes of relaxation exercise to wrap up the lesson.”

Louis lies down on his back and lets his head loll to the side, watching as Curly gently lays himself out on the floor next to him. He rolls his head back to center and closes his eyes as Dreads continues to instruct them.

“I want you to focus individually on each part of your body, from the toes up, until all of you is relaxed,” he says, and the guitar music in the background switches over to another, slower-paced song. “Focus on your feet, take a deep breath, hold it, and let it out. Focus on your feet…”

Louis thinks, as Dreads continues to talk them through the relaxation exercise, that this is definitely his favorite part of the class. He is covered in sweat from spending an hour in the stuffy room and his head is spinning a tiny bit (perhaps he should have eaten more beforehand?) but he feels like he could melt into the floor right now. His limbs are loose and heavy and by the time Dreads is telling him to focus on his forehead he feels like he could absolutely and positively fall asleep.

Luckily, before he gets the chance, Dreads is slowly turning the lights up and instructing the class to roll over onto their sides and sit up at their own pace. By the time Louis is crossing his legs Curly is already sat up beside him, eyes closed and his palms pressed together in front of his chest. Louis notices a few other people in the same pose, so he copies it.

“I want you all to clasp your hands in front of your heart, lean forward, and say _Namaste_ ,” Dreads says. “With that phrase, we recognize the beauty in each and every one of your hearts.” Louis smirks a bit at that and makes a mental note to tease Zayn later about being a stinking hippie, but leans forward and mumbles, “Namaste” nonetheless.

The music stops as everyone begins to stand up and gather their mats quietly. The mood in the room is relaxed and a bit sleepy, and Louis is about to turn to Curly to ask him his name when someone comes up and wraps their bare arms around him from behind.

“Ger’off you sweaty lump,” he laughs, tugging Zayn’s arms from around his waist and turning around to face his grinning flat-mate. “That was really fun, we should do this more often.”

Zayn’s smile grows even wider. “Yeah? You liked it?” he asks, and Louis nods, rolling his mat up and tucking it under his arm. He grabs the orange sweat towel up from the floor and wipes his forehead with it.

“I did,” he says. “Now let’s get something to eat, I’m starving.”

Zayn agrees, walking back to pick up his own mat and water bottle before leaving. Louis turns around to find that—unfortunately—Curly has already left the building.

***

Louis and Zayn are waiting for their take-away order outside the Chinese restaurant down the street from their flat when Louis remembers their conversation from the night before.

“You were absolutely right about that tall boy,” he says as Zayn takes a long drag on a cigarette, leaned up against the side of the restaurant. He looks a bit confused.

“Eh?” he asks, his eyebrows knitting together. “I was right about what, now?”

“You said there was a tall boy with brown hair who was my type. I sat next to him, didn’t you see? He was absolutely gorgeous.”

Zayn laughs. “Ah, well, that’s actually not who I was thinking of. The guy I had in mind wasn’t there tonight, I think he usually comes on Thursdays.”

Louis blinks dumbly. “Well then who was I talking to?” he asks.

“Beats me, mate,” Zayn shrugs, dropping his cigarette butt to the ground and putting it out with the sole of his shoe. “But he was definitely checking out your bum when your back was turned during warrior pose."

Louis doesn’t stop smiling about that for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to dedicate this work to dinglehoppersaplenty for being the most beautiful and supportive best friend I could ever ask for, and to tomlegson for dragging me kicking and screaming into the one direction fandom approximately four months ago. you're both brilliant!


	2. ii.

Wednesday morning Louis wakes up to the rhythmic beeping of his alarm clock and the throbbing realization that his thigh muscles hate him.  He throws an arm over his eyes and groans aloud, wishing that he could will his clock off with his mind and roll back over into the comfort of his warm, down duvet. But unfortunately his telekinetic skill hasn’t been perfected yet, and so after a minute more of harsh beeping he sits up and turns off his alarm.

Stumbling into the kitchen with sore legs and tired eyes, Louis fills the red teapot on the counter with water from the sink and places it on the front left burner of the tiny stove. He turns the dial on the top, flickering flame into existence under the smooth ceramic bottom of the teapot and leans against the counter as he waits for it to heat up.

“Morning,” says Zayn as he ambles sleepily into the kitchen wearing jeans, a black v-neck, and his navy blue knapsack slung over one shoulder. “How’re you feeling?” He grabs a banana from the counter and stands by the trashcan as he carefully unfolds the peel.

“Sore as shit,” Louis grumbles as he reaches for the cabinet next to his head and pulls out two mugs. He holds a third up and quirks an eyebrow at Zayn, who shakes his head.

“Nah, thanks. ‘M actually ‘bout to meet Perrie for a cuppa so we can study for our exam on Monday, I’m a bit behind on my reading.” Zayn throws the peel in the trash and breaks off a piece of the banana, popping it in his mouth. Louis returns the third mug to the cabinet and reaches for a box of Earl Grey leaves as he hears the water in the teapot start to boil.

“But yeah,” Zayn continues around a mouthful of banana mush. “If you haven’t stretched in a while it can make you feel sore, since it’s a bit of a workout. Sorry, forgot to mention that.” He swallows thickly and pops the rest of the banana into his mouth, patting his back pockets curiously and pulling his phone out of the left one. “Take a day off and then keep up the habit and it’ll stop feeling like that in the mornings.”

Louis is about to snap back about how ridiculous a concept it is that he should have to do _more_ yoga to feel better from doing yoga in the first place—what a scam!—but before he can speak Zayn is swiping his thumb across the touch screen of his phone and putting it to his ear.

“’lo?” he asks, finishing his banana. Louis can hear Zayn’s ex girlfriend Perrie’s cheery voice on the other end of the line. The teapot is getting dangerously close to whistling and Louis hates the noise, so he pulls it from the burner and turns off the stove.

Louis and his flat-mates had been thrown together in a blind arrangement their first year of on-campus living at University College London, and Perrie Edwards had lived down the hall from them with three other girls. Perrie and Zayn officially met during their Introduction to Philosophy lecture and had hit it off immediately. The two of them became inseparable throughout their first and second years of university.

But after twenty-two months of dating and eight of not talking to one another, Zayn and Perrie realized that they were better off as friends than anything. They had learned to rely on each other for support again as the rest of their friends prepared for graduation or (in Louis’ case) dropped out. But the latter wasn’t something that anyone ever acknowledged—they just assume that he’ll figure himself out in time, Louis supposes. He isn’t quite sure if he’s as confident in himself as they are.

Louis finishes preparing the two mugs of tea—his with milk and Liam’s with two spoonfuls of raw honey—and places the latter on the kitchen table. Clutching his own hot mug between his still-sleepy hands, he holds it close to his chin and lets the steam warm his face, turning to look at Zayn again.

“Alright, sure,” Zayn is saying, swinging the other strap of his backpack onto his shoulder and adjusting the collar of his shirt while still holding the phone to his ear. “Definitely, see ya in a few Pez.” He hangs up the phone and puts it back in the pocket of his jeans, walking past Louis and bending over to slip on a pair of black boots near the door.

“Anyway, if you wanna go to the studio tomorrow night let me know. They’ve got a nine o clock on Thursdays as well.” He stands up and pats Louis on the shoulder comfortingly. “I promise you’ll feel better once you get used to… y’know, physical activity that doesn’t involve running a register, guzzling pints, and lying on your floor playing Xbox.”

Louis scoffs and knocks Zayn’s hand off his shoulder. “Yeah yeah, we’ll go again tomorrow,” he says. “’M only doing it for the lads in yoga pants though.”

Zayn smiles mischievously. “Of course you are,” he says, turning to exit the front door of their flat.

“Say hi to Pezza for me!” Louis shouts after Zayn as the door swings closed. He grabs his tea and heads down the hall to the bathroom to get ready for work, rapping Liam’s bedroom door with his knuckles on the way. “There’s a cuppa Earl Grey for you on the counter,” he calls through the white-painted wood, but that proves unnecessary a moment later when the door swings open and Liam emerges in a new pair of khaki shorts and a green polo, the summer uniform for his job at the community centre. He looks surprised.

“You made me tea?” he asks, approaching the table tentatively like he isn’t sure if Louis is joking or not. Louis rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, but if you make a deal of it I’ll go back to dumping it down the drain,” he says, entering the bathroom and catching Liam’s eye in the mirror over the sink before closing the door with his foot. “So, don’t,” he finishes as it swings shut behind him with a _click_.

“’m leaving in fifteen if you want a ride to work, you miserable sod,” Liam calls after him.

***

That day at work is particularly frustrating. Six hours into his shift Louis is taking a break in the passenger seat of Stan’s car parked at the far end of the lot, seat kicked back all the way and his feet on the dashboard as he chews angrily on a carrot stick.

“I mean, how hard is it to read the bloody advert?” he asks, sinking further into his seat.

Stan is sitting with his own seat close to the wheel as usual, holding a burning cigarette out the cracked window of the drivers’ side. “You’d think it wouldn’t be hard at all,” he laughs. “But I’ve had at least seven people approach me on the floor today to ask if the sale from the other week is still running.”

Louis snorts and bites into another carrot stick. “Someone tried to use a coupon from last year in my lane today and got upset when I explained it was invalid,” he complains. He’s always been a bit competitive, but one-upping his coworkers regarding the woes of retail is on an entirely different level of sick satisfaction, and throughout the years had almost become a hobby.

“I had to bring down seven separate bicycles from the storage room, and then the customer decided not to buy any of them so I had to put them all back.”

“Ooh, rough,” Louis winces. “I had a kid nail me on the bollocks with a football earlier.”

Stan takes a long drag on his cigarette. “I had to clean stale sick off the floor of the little boys’ room at nine o clock this morning,” he says after a moment.

Louis cringes. “Alright then, you win for now. We’ll reconvene at the end of the day though, because I’m sure I can top that sometime during the next five hours.”

“Deal,” Stan says, flicking the butt of his cigarette out the window and leaning back in his seat. Louis finishes his carrot sticks and digs around in his lunchbox for a bag of pretzels, ripping open the top a bit more violently than is necessary.

“Zayn took me to yoga with him last night and I’m still aching. He says that for it to feel good I’ve got to keep doing it, which I think is rubbish.” He munches on the twisted pretzels and watches a seagull pick at the overflowing bag of a trash bin across the parking lot.

“Sounds like a pretty shady system to me,” Stan agrees, rolling up his window and letting his eyelids droop closed gently. The two boys had long ago synchronized their lunch breaks on days when they both had shifts so that they could enjoy thirty minutes of uninterrupted solitude from the exhaustion of working retail together in the comfort of Stan’s car.

Stan has a habit of knowing just what to do to keep Louis sane and Louis has a feeling that his friend’s efforts are one of the main reasons why he’s been able to keep his current job for so long. “Then again, same goes for any work out, yeah?” Stan continues after a minute of comfortable silence only pierced by the on-and-off sound of Louis’ chewing.

Louis shrugs. “I suppose you’re right, I just normally don’t have to pay to work out.”

“You can afford to splurge on something that’s good for you after working your bum off forty-plus hours a week,” Stan reasons with him. “You’re just being difficult.” Louis purses his lips and thinks about that for a moment. Sometimes it feels like Stan knows him better than he knows himself.

“Suppose you’re right,” he admits, popping a handful of pretzels into his mouth. “Plus, I ended up sitting next to an Actual Real-Life Adonis during the class but didn’t get the chance to catch his name, so I guess going back isn’t such a bad idea.”

A toothy grin makes its way onto Stan’s face at Louis’ words. “Yeah?” he asks interestedly. “Like, Nick the Bartender cute?”

Crumbling up the empty bag of pretzels, Louis shoves his trash back into his lunchbox and zips the top. He thinks for a moment, trying to remember the server from the pub on Monday night. “Cuter,” he says finally. “Way cuter. Potentially the cutest person I’ve ever seen in my entire bloody life.”

Stan laughs. “Well then, I don’t know what you’re complaining about—there are attractive boys in your future! You’ve suffered worse than sore muscles for that. D’you think he’s queer?”

“Undoubtedly,” Louis says without hesitation. “Couldn’t stop grinning when I was flirting with him and Zayn says he was staring at my bum when I had my back turned.”

“D’you think he has a boyfriend?”

Louis smiles coyly. “I guess we'll have to find out, won't we?”

***

Thursday night Zayn picks Louis up after his closing shift at Toys R Us and they head downtown to the yoga studio together. Louis is buzzing with excitement at the prospect of seeing Curly again—he and Stan had talked it over and decided that his mission for the night was to get to know his name, and hope that things would blossom from there.

“You’re pretty eager for someone who was whining only yesterday morning,” Zayn teases as they enter the humid lobby, a bit of a skip to Louis’ usually foot-dragging gait.

“I was being a baby,” Louis shrugs. “I felt loads better this morning, so I’m excited to see how I feel after another go.”

Zayn smirks as they reach the counter, grabbing the clipboard to sign in. “I’m sure that’s all your excited for,” he says. Louis elbows him in the ribcage just hard enough to make Zayn’s hand jolt across the sign-in sheet, in the middle of writing his name. “Oi, look what you made me do!”

Louis looks at him with wide, innocent eyes. “What’re you talking about, mate?” he says as he eyes the black pen mark now streaking across the entire page. “You’re the one with the shaky hands here.”

Snorting, Zayn finishes signing in and slides the clipboard and pen across the countertop to Louis, so that he can do the same.

“Nice to see you again!” the blonde behind the counter says as she looks up from a computer monitor. “This is only your second time here, yeah?” Louis nods as he hands her the clipboard.

“Brilliant,” she continues. “Classes are normally nine pounds a visit if you don’t have a monthly package, but since you’re still new we’ve got an introductory offer that you might be interested in—twelve for two weeks of unlimited classes. That way you can make sure that you want to stay before you sign up for a monthly commitment.”

Louis reaches into the pocket of his joggers and pulls out his wallet. “’s not as expensive as I thought it’d be,” he says with a smile. Spending money has always been a bit rough for him despite how much he’s making at the time—his mother had taught him to be frugal from a young age. He was known among his friends for trying to barter down prices on everything from records to petrol, and even pints at the pub when he's had one too many and is feeling particularly ballsy.

Plucking his credit card from the front flap of his brown leather wallet, he hands it to the girl and watches as she swipes it through the card reader next to the computer monitor. Handing it back to Louis, she takes the clipboard and types his information from the sign-up sheet into the computer. “Do you need a receipt?” she asks, and Louis shakes his head as he slips his credit card back into his wallet.

Taking off his shoes, Louis buries his wallet in the toe of his left one and then he and Zayn make their way down the hallway clutching their yoga mats and water bottles. They slip in the room together and are immediately hit with a thick veil of heat and silence. Louis blinks a few times to get his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting and begins looking around for Curly.

As if he could read Louis’ mind (and sometimes, he thinks that might be the case), Zayn leans over and whispers in his ear, “where’s your friend, eh?”

Louis frowns. “Apparently not here. Said he was a regular, but maybe he’s got a busy schedule or something.” Shrugging, he tries to act less disappointed than he is. “Not a problem though, this time we’ll sit together.”

The two boys make their way to the center of the room and set their mats side-by-side in a gap in the back row. Louis takes off his socks and sits down. Dreads is positioned at the front of the room again, sitting with his legs crossed and his eyes closed in front of the mirror.

The door to the room opens once more and a few people spill in. Louis looks at the clock and notices that there are only a couple more minutes before the class starts, so he crosses his legs and takes a few deep breaths to ready himself. However, his concentration is shattered a few moments later as a pair of bare, thin legs step in front of his mat.

“Fancy seeing you here,” says the man, and Louis looks up the length of his tall body to find the smiling face of the Nick the Bartender. “You new?”

“Is it that obvious?” Louis jokes, scooting his mat slightly closer to Zayn’s so that Nick can lay his down on Louis’ other side. He was hoping that Curly would show up at the last minute and sit next to him, but doesn’t know how to say that when he doesn’t even know the boy’s name.

Nick unrolls his orange yoga mat and stretches out on his back, fingers laced behind his head and knees bent, legs falling slightly open. Louis swallows thickly at the sight.

“Oh calm down, you’re fine,” Nick laughs casually, catching Louis’ gaze with a knowing smirk. “I’m a regular here and I’ve never seen you before, ‘s the only reason I asked.” Louis nods, looking back to Zayn to introduce him. However, Zayn’s already looking at the him with a glint in his eye. Louis isn’t sure if he wants to know what it means.

“What was your name, then?” Nick continues, unlacing his fingers to hold out a hand, fingers long and thin. “Don’t think I caught it the other night when you were drowning your sorrows in booze.” Louis flushes at that, wondering how much of his conversation with Stan Nick had caught onto.

“Louis,” he says, shaking Nick’s hand before throwing a pointed thumb over his shoulder at his flat-mate. “And this is Zayn, he’s the one who dragged me here.”

Nick nods his head at Zayn, not bothering to reach around Louis to shake his hand. “Yeah, I’ve seen him here before, nice to properly meet ya mate,” he says with a smile. Zayn nods back and Louis wonders for a moment if maybe the look in his flat-mate’s eyes had been lust.

After all, Nick is rather fit—tall and lean with a crooked smile and a mop of brown hair that’s particularly endearing. He seems a few years older than them, but neither Louis nor his flat-mate have shied away from older men in the past. Zayn usually prefers blonde hair (on both lads and girls), but Louis supposes that doesn’t mean much in the long run when you’ve got someone cute in front of you.

Before he can analyze the situation any further though, Dreads is rising to his feet and approaching the speakers at the far end of the room. He plugs in his iPod and Louis thinks he recognizes the sound of a sitar. Dreads walks back to the center of the room with a bounce in his step.

“Welcome to Sohot, everyone!” he says happily. “For those who I’ve seen before, welcome back. And to those of you who are new, I’m glad you could join us today.” Louis tunes out a bit as Dreads goes over the part about stepping out or kneeling in child’s pose if anyone feels dizzy, letting his eyes catch Nick in his peripheral vision and watching as he sits up into a cross-legged position. He’s not nearly as cute as Curly, but Louis can see the appeal and there’s no harm in looking. Louis considers for a moment that Nick and Zayn would look rather good together.

Dreads begins to lead the class in a breathing exercise, and Louis stands up and lets his eyelids fall closed as he listens to the man’s smooth voice. He thinks Nick would make a good yoga instructor too—it turns out that his voice sounds just as good to Louis’ sober ears as it had to his stoned ones—or maybe a television show host. Louis would watch Nick's television show if he had one, he thinks.

Louis opens his eyes and reaches his arms high above his head, stretching his spine and leaning to one side and then the other at Dreads’ instruction. “In half-moon pose you should really feel the pull in your sides,” he’s saying. “But make sure that you’re not going too far—remember, one of the most important rules of yoga is that you should never do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.”

Louis likes that rule an awful lot, and finds himself beginning to bend a bit less than the people around him. Usually he’d let his competitive nature take over, but the fact that no one’s eyes are really on him makes it a bit easier to go at his own pace. He breathes in deeply as he returns his body to center, aligning his spine again and dropping his arms.

“I want you all to focus on how you’re standing now,” Dreads says, and Louis shuffles his feet a bit, waiting for more specific direction. “Your feet should be knee-width apart, spine straight, shoulders back, and arms falling at your sides. Pull your chest forwards a bit, and breathe deeply—this is mountain pose.” Louis blinks. He’s not quite sure how standing here with his arms by his sides is a yoga pose, but after learning that laying on his back was called “corpse pose” near the end of his last class he had decided to stop questioning things.

Louis realizes about thirty-five minutes into the class that even though it’s technically the same lesson as he was in on Tuesday, he’s learning a few different poses than he had before and they’re in a slightly different order. He wonders idly if there’s an agenda for this sort of thing, or if Dreads just plays it by ear every class.

He’s bent over at the waist letting the top half of his body hang toward his toes soon after that when he feels a fullness in his belly that can’t be ignored any longer. Standing up straight and rolling his shoulders back a bit he quietly maneuvers around the floor full of yoga mats to get to the door.

Slipping out, Louis pads barefoot down the hall, hanging a left halfway to the lobby and reaching for the handle to the door of the men’s washroom. Before he can grasp it however the door is swinging open in his face and knocking him backwards. He stumbles a few steps before catching himself on the wall behind him, looking up to see Curly standing in front of him with wide eyes and a hand over his mouth.

“Oops,” he says after a moment or two, and Louis can’t help but find it adorable.

“Hi,” he responds, with a warm smile. He can see that Curly is worried and cuts him off before he can say anything else. “Don’t fret, I’m fine—you just scared me s’all,” he says. Curly lowers his hand from his mouth but doesn’t say anything.

A sleeveless, cotton grey shirt hangs loosely off the boy’s shoulders and exposes the defined lines of his collar bones, where Louis notices the tops of two tattoos that he hadn’t seen before, though he can’t make out the design. A few more tattoos climb up his left arm, and there’s a delicate anchor on his wrist that Louis is aching to touch. He isn’t sure how he failed to notice the boy’s ink before, but he's glad that he notices it now.

One arm of a folded pair of Ray Ban wayfarers is tucked in the breast pocket of Curly's shirt, and his long legs are squeezed into a pair of dark jeans. Louis has a feeling that the boy is much less flexible in these than in his white running shorts. The denim disappears around ankle-height into brown, suede boots with a pointed toe and a heel as tall as Louis’ thumb is long. He feels rather under-dressed next to Curly, in his black joggers and a tight red scoop neck t shirt with patches of sweat pooling underneath his arms.

“Those’re some pretty steep heels for someone who likes to be barefoot,” Louis blurts out, unsure of what else to say. “Didn’t think you needed to be any taller than you already were.” A smile slides onto Curly’s smooth, pink lips as he catches Louis’ eye and giggles. Louis’ chest feels tighter at the sight of it.

“I like the way they make my legs look,” he says, wide grin betraying him as he tries to shrug nonchalantly, looking toward his feet. His voice is just as slow as it was the last time they spoke, meaning it probably had nothing to do with the heat of the room. Louis wishes he would look back up at him again.

“No shame in that,” He says, reaching out and clapping Curly on the shoulder amiably, pausing for a beat to consider if he should carry on before continuing brazenly. “I like the way they make your legs look, too.”  If he’s not mistaken, the other boy leans into the touch for just a second, and Louis tightens his fingers gently around his shoulder in response before letting go. He’s isn’t sure how big of a difference there is between flirty and creepy, but he’s pretty sure it’s a fine line that he doesn’t want to cross—there should be rules for how long you’re allowed to hold onto the arm of a person whose name you don’t even know, so that he doesn’t have to guess when it comes to these sort of things. At that thought, he remembers the goal for the night that he and Stan had set.

“So, I never actually got to—” Louis starts, intent on finding out the boy’s name. But Curly begins speaking at the same time.

“I’ve actually got to run, but—” he says, stopping when he realizes that Louis is trying to talk as well. Both boys stand there silently for a moment, before Curly holds out his hand and cocks his head to the side inquisitively.

Louis shakes his thin hand, noticing how cold it feels in comparison to his own palm, still heated from the heightened temperature of the yoga room. “Name’s Louis,” he offers.

“Louis,” Curly repeats. “Right, well I’m reaaaaaally sorry I nearly knocked you over Louis, I’ll buy you a smoothie sometime to make up for it.”

Never one to turn down offers of free things, Louis shrugs his approval and lets go of the boy’s hand. Curly continues talking. “Brilliant. Unfortunately right now I’ve absolutely got to leave, I’ve got a work shift in ten and I can’t be late! I’ll see you around here soon though, yeah?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Louis says, a bit breathless as he watches Curly walk backwards down the hall toward the door. He raises one of his arms and it’s then that Louis really notices just how _big_ his hands are—nearly as big as his entire face, it seems—pinky gracefully parted from the rest of his fingers as he waves goodbye. Louis isn’t sure if he can form words right now, so instead he waves back as the boy exits the studio, a bell tinkling above the door as it swings shut.

He makes his way into the washroom and it isn’t until he’s scrubbing his hands under cool water that he realizes that he had entirely forgotten to ask for the other boy’s name.

Louis makes it back into the room as the class is laying down in corpse pose for the final relaxation exercise, so he does the same when he reaches his black mat tucked between Nick’s and Zayn’s. He’s supposed to be focusing on his different body parts and his breathing, but all Louis can think about as Dreads’ voice carries across the room is the way Curly’s shoulder had felt, warm and muscled under the pads of his fingertips.

***

Louis shuts the passenger side door of Zayn’s car and waits for his flat-mate to get situated in his seat. He’s about to mention running into Curly in the washroom when Zayn starts laughing. “That Nick guy? He was who I thought you’d find cute. Funny, I guess you already know him.”

The looks that Zayn had been giving Nick suddenly make sense. “I met him at the pub on Monday, he’s a bartender. I thought you were into him to be honest,” Louis explains, raising a coy eyebrow. Zayn shakes his head.

“Nah, not my type. Figured he was yours though. What’d you think?”

“He’s cute, but I ran into someone cuter on my way to the loo,” Louis says. Zayn looks over to him in interest as he starts the car and begins to back out of his parking spot.

“Another one? Jeez mate, you’re on a roll,” he jokes.

“Nah, same one as before,” Louis responds cheekily. “The boy from Tuesday was heading out of the men’s room right as I was walking in—nearly flattened me with the door. He was in a hurry and dressed in street clothes, no idea why he was there if he wasn’t taking a class. Didn’t get the chance to ask that—or even to ask his name—but he asked mine and I shook his hand and I’m pretty sure he promised me a smoothie.”

“That’s progress,” Zayn says, looking genuinely impressed. “That’s a lot of progress actually. Thank goodness you had to take a wee. Hopefully you’ll learn his name next time, yeah?”

Louis smiles and leans back in his seat, his body warm and pliant from the yoga class. He looks out the window and watches city lights pass by as Zayn drives in the direction of home. “Yeah,” he says. “Hopefully.”

***

The next night Louis comes home from work to find Zayn spread out on the floor with his laptop, papers and open books surrounding his upper body on the carpet and angled toward him for easy access. He’s got the end of a pen between his lips, and there’s a muted war documentary on the television screen. He grunts his hello, staring at the screen of his laptop and scrolling periodically down Wikipedia as he reads an article.

“How’s it going?” Louis asks, though he can tell from the state of him that Zayn is not doing well. He hangs his keys on a hook by the door and walks into the kitchen, where Liam is sat on the counter eating leftover cold pizza. Louis grabs a slice from the open box and takes a bite, turning back to face Zayn in the adjoining room.

“Rotten,” Zayn mumbles, scratching his head as he starts scrolling faster. “Absolutely rotten, I’m really struggling with the material for my theory exam. Pez was helpful but I think I need to meet with her again this weekend.”

“Ooh la la,” Liam coos around a mouthful of pizza. “Re-igniting the flame, are we Z?” Zayn snorts and lets his head fall forward onto his laptop keyboard, apparently giving up on reading.

“Nowhere near it,” he says into the carpet. “We’re just friends, Liam. ‘s better that way.”

Liam shrugs. “I always thought you two were good together,” he says.

“Yeah, well it wasn’t working out. What’s up with you putting your nose in everybody else’s love life lately, eh? Starting to think you’re the one who needs a date.”

Scoffing, Liam slides off the counter and heads to the fridge to grab the carton of orange juice inside. He takes a cup from the cabinet next to the stove and pours himself a glass before putting the juice back and shutting the refrigerator door with his hip.

“I’m just trying to be a good roommate is all,” he says defensively. “Take an interest in your lives and whatnot, but I’ll bloody well stop asking if you’d rather I pretend I don’t care.”

Zayn’s still got his face on his keyboard but Louis would bet his entire paycheck that he’s rolling his eyes. After living together for nearly three years, the boys have fallen into a habit of domestic bickering that is—despite what one might think—actually rather comfortable.

“Be interested,” Zayn says exasperatedly, “but don’t be nosy.”

Liam sits down on the couch behind Zayn with his glass of orange juice and feels around the cushions for the remote. “Mind if I put something on?” he asks Zayn, who just shrugs from the floor, still not lifting his head. Liam flips through the channels, television still on mute, as Louis finishes his pizza and joins Liam on the couch. He leans back against one arm, throwing his legs over Liam’s lap and crossing his arms over his chest, nestling into the cushions.

“Ooh, go back,” he says “Let’s watch Supernanny, I haven’t seen that in ages.”

Liam laughs, but he obliges. “Supernanny? It’s a re-run mate; you’ve seen this one before.”

Louis shrugs as he grabs the remote from Liam and turns up the volume. “Doesn’t matter, it’s hilarious,” he says. “People are such idiots when it comes to managing their own kids these days! Hell, if all it takes is the patience to get them to cooperate, I bet I could make a living doing this. Why don’t I have a shite reality show?” he asks with a pout.

“They’re not idiots, you’re just exceptionally good with kids,” Liam says, resting his arms on top of Louis’ legs. “Like, I don’t know how to get near them without making ‘em cry, but they bloody love you.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “It’s because I understand them,” he says. “’s really not that difficult, you’ve just got to get down on their level and learn to listen.”

Zayn finally lifts his head from his keyboard and turns his attention from his laptop to the television in front of him. “That’s a skill though Lou, not everyone can do that.”

“You’ve got to try, is all,” Louis argues. Zayn hums noncommittally and Liam seems to be engrossed in the drama of the show already despite his initial protests.

They watch in silence for a few minutes and eventually Zayn turns back to his laptop to continue reading. At the next commercial break, Louis mutes the television and yawns. “I’m knackered,” he says with his hand still over his mouth. “It’s not even nine o’clock and I’m knackered, I’m such a grandfather.”

Zayn sighs. “I feel you on that one, but I’ve got to keep reading or I’m never going to understand this by Monday. You’re lucky you don’t have classes to worry about anymore.”

The room gets silent after that, and Louis can tell that Zayn regrets his words immediately. He shrugs them off even though Zayn’s back is turned. “Yeah, I suppose I am,” he says casually.

Liam looks up at him from the other end of the couch. It seems that now the topic has been breached, it’s open season for questions. “You been thinking about going back, Lou?” Liam asks cautiously. (Of course he does, Liam’s the nosiest bloody person in Noseville.)

“I dunno,” Louis responds honestly. “I mean, I’m making good money where I’m at, yeah? Job sucks but… I dunno, Stan’s there and I’ve apparently got this hobby now. I still don’t know what I want to do with myself, so why not just keep bumming around until I figure it out? That’s the reason I left uni in the first place.”

Liam shrugs, obviously not feeling like pressing the matter. “I suppose,” he says. “I was just wondering, y’know, if you’d given it any consideration.”

Of course Louis had given it consideration. After two years of studying drama he had realized that it wasn’t what he wanted to do with his life, and left university to pick up work full-time at Toys R Us. It hadn’t seemed financially prudent to continue taking courses if he had no idea where he was going, and so instead he had opted to save money and work things out later.

It had been nearly a full year since his last lecture though, and he had begun to grow restless in the past few months. Working the same job day-in and day-out had its perks, but it wasn’t really where Louis saw himself in ten years, or even five if he was being honest. Unfortunately, he couldn’t figure out where he _did_ see himself—it was somewhere vague and uncertain, as of now. But definitely somewhere where he didn’t have to do the _same fucking thing_ every single day for the rest of his life—Louis thinks he would rather die than do that.

But Louis doesn't say any of that, instead waiting for Supernanny to come back on the television so that he can turn up the volume and signal the end of the conversation.

_***_

Louis has Saturday off work but wakes up at seven in the morning out of habit anyway. Zayn seems to have fallen asleep on his stomach on the living room floor studying last night, so Louis nudges him gently in the ribcage with his toes to wake him up. Zayn whines and throws an arm over his head.

“I fell asleep on the floor,” he says, voice a bit raspy.

“That you did,” Louis says, bending over to rub his back. “Want some tea?”

Zayn nods from under his arm and Louis laughs softly. “Alright then, you just lay there and I’ll get it for you.”

“You’re a saint,” Zayn calls after him as he makes his way into the kitchen, fills the teapot, and puts it on the stove. He turns on the burner and pulls two mugs down from the cabinet, dragging one of the kitchen chairs over to the stove and sitting down as he waits for the water to boil. He pulls his legs up into the chair and lays his arms atop his knees, chin resting in the dip of his right wrist.

Zayn starts to get up from the floor slowly, first rising onto all fours and then sitting back on his heels and stretching his back in child’s pose. He lets out a deep breath. “God, I’m sore,” he says. “Who let me sleep on the floor?”

“No one really let you,” Louis tells him.”You just sort of fall asleep wherever and we can never seem to wake you up. You sure you don’t have narcolepsy?”

Zayn huffs out a laugh from where he’s still bent over in child’s pose, then sits up against the base of the sofa behind him and stretches his legs out in front of his body. “Yeah, ‘m pretty sure I don’t have narcolepsy,” he replies.

Louis hums idly as the water in the teapot starts to boil slightly—it sounds a bit like rain. Zayn is rubbing his eyes tiredly, still sitting on the floor, when he asks what Louis is doing today.

“Not much,” Louis says, standing up to get the tea leaves and milk as the water starts boiling faster. “I’ve got the day off so I was just going to wing it. Got a few errands to run and a letter to write, later.” He pours a generous amount of milk in his cup, but leaves Zayn’s alone—his flat-mate always prefers to take his tea black.

“Well there’s a cardio class at Sohot at eight, I feel like it would get these knots out of my back from sleeping on the floor all night. You in?”

Louis perks up at the idea. “Yeah actually, that sounds fun—I feel really great after last night’s class.”

Zayn chuckles. “Well that’s because you’ve been going to the nighttime ones, they’re designed to relax you. You haven’t gone to a morning class yet—they’re made to pump you up. You’ll get a pretty good workout, probably should wear running shorts and a sleeveless shirt if you don’t want to pass out.”

“Sounds rough but I’m sure I’ll manage,” Louis says. He removes the teapot from the stove as the steam coming out of the spout verges on screaming. Pouring hot water into the two mug of tea leaves, he brings one over to Zayn and clutches the other handle with his left hand. “Drink up! I’ll go get dressed, and then we can go.”

“Bless you,” Zayn says with a content smile as he closes his eyes and holds the steaming mug close to his face. “You’re so good to me.”

Forty minutes later, Louis and Zayn are signing up on the sheet at the front counter of the yoga studio. The girl with the blonde hair is gone and Dreads is running the front desk in her place.This time Zayn doesn’t tease Louis about being excited, and as a reward Louis doesn’t jab him in the ribs and make him mess up writing his name. Sometimes, they can be civil in public.

After taking off their shoes, Zayn hands Louis his mat and heads for the washroom. “I’ll see you in there, yeah? Need a mo’ first.” Louis nods and walks down the hallway to the door at the end. He’s got twenty minutes before class starts and it didn’t look like there was anyone else’s shoes in the lobby, so he’s planning to find him and Zayn a good spot for their mats and then lay down for a bit before things get going.

When he opens the door however, he finds that there’s already another person in the room, magenta mat a couple of yards away from the door. Louis swallows around a lump in his throat and sets his black mat down next to Curly’s, unrolling Zayn’s on his other side. He takes off his socks and gets into mountain pose.

The boy next to him is focused, damp curls held back off his forehead with a twisted, paisley-patterned hair scarf instead of a headband this time. Sweat is already beading on his upper lip as he tips his head back and stretches his long, tattooed arms toward the ceiling. Louis shifts his feet on his spongy black mat and focuses on the boy’s shoulder blades underneath his white sleeveless cotton top, the loosely knotted ends of the hair scarf at the base of his neck, the curve of his slightly arched back.

He stands with such unwavering conviction that Louis feels silly and unstable even with both feet firmly on the ground, digging his toes into the surface of the mat as he watches the boy bend forward and reach for his feet. The motion is fluid and graceful and Louis tries very hard not to notice the way his bum looks squeezed into his black and clinging bike shorts. Before he can feel too guilty about admiring the view however, the boy is shifting positions again, now balancing with his left leg behind him, right leg bent forward in a lunge with his chest puffed out.

Louis’ gaze rises to his lips, pink and slightly parted around what appears to be an introduction. But the heat in the room is slowing down the gears in his brain and Louis can’t quite make out what it is he had said. He blinks dumbly a few times, shaking his head as if to clear a fog in his mind. “Sorry?”

“Name’s Harry,” the boy says again, a bit louder than before. “Sorry, ‘m a bit mumbly sometimes, the humidity makes my tongue go all stupid. Realized after I left the other night that I hadn’t given you my name. Rather rude of me, ‘specially after threatening your life with a washroom door.”

Louis grins, watching as Harry moves both of his legs behind him now, resting in plank position for a few measured beats before flattening himself on the magenta mat, elbows bent and palms next to his chest on either side. He uses the leverage from that position to push his torso up in a graceful arc, hips still making contact with the floor as he looks up toward toward ceiling.

“Harry,” Louis says, liking the way it feels on his tongue. “Nice to officially meet you.”

Harry smiles before pushing his body up into an upside-down V, bum in the air and his fingers and toes digging gently into his yoga mat.  

“What’re you doing?” Louis asks after a few moments of silence. His voice sounds too loud in the otherwise quiet room, and he watches Harry’s calf muscles flex as he wiggles his toes.

“Sun salutations,” he says. “’s a series of poses that you move through in a cycle, this one’s called downward dog.”

“Downward dog?” Louis asks with a giggle. “Alright, yeah, I guess I can see that.” He steps to the back of his mat and leans forward, lifting his bum in the air and letting his head hang between his arms. “Like this?”

He hears Harry shift next to him but can’t see him from this position. He can feel Harry’s eyes on him though, and without thinking about it finds himself holding his breath.

“Exactly like that,” he says, and Louis feels a swell of pride at his competency, breathing deeply out his nose.

“Now step forward with your left foot in a lunge, and then angle your body forward so that your front knee is at chest-level. Try to straighten your back and place your hands next to your front feet,” Harry says, and they both move into the position together (though Harry is a bit faster from practice, of course).

“Good. Next, walk your feet towards your hands and let your torso hang toward the ground, heavy like lead.” They both hold that pose for a couple of deep, quiet breaths. “Then stand up and stretch your arms toward the ceiling. Lean backwards as far as you comfortably can while lengthening your spine,” he continues, and Louis follows his instruction.

“Yeah, now take a deep breath and return to mountain pose, but clasp your hands in front of your heart instead of letting your arms hang at your sides.” Louis obliges.

“Congratulations, you’ve just successfully completed less than half of a complete sun salutation,” Harry says in a teasing voice, but Louis swears he hears a hint of affection underneath. He can’t help but smile at that.

“Well you’re a bloody good teacher,” he tells him.

Harry ducks his chin toward his chest. “I’m not really though, I’ve just taken enough classes that I have Toby’s instructions memorized,” he says.

“Toby?” Louis asks. Harry looks at him with an amused glint in his eyes, smile bursting forth from behind his lips.

“The instructor… you’re telling me you’ve been to his classes and still haven’t learned his name?” he asks. Usually Louis hates when people who aren’t his roommates or Stan take the piss out of him, but he just can’t seem to find himself bothered by this. He lifts his shoulders toward his ears in a noncommittal shrug, and Harry laughs. “Alright, well now you have. Glad I could help you out.”

“You’ve been more than helpful,” Louis says. “I’d probably be wearing socks and calling Toby “Dreads” out loud if it weren’t for you. You’re like my hot yoga guardian angel—you can tell me what to do any day.”

Harry flushes an a deep shade of pink and Louis wonders how much of it has to do with him and how much of it has to do with the heat. He imagines what Harry might look like, flushed pink and spread out on a bed underneath him. He had heard him panting a bit near the end of Tuesday’s class, when Louis’ own heartbeat had been starting to pick up from the exertion of the hour’s worth of stretching. He wonders if Harry pants like that when he’s desperate and rutting against the palm of his hand all alone in his bedroom.

Harry shifts uncomfortably on his mat and Louis snaps his attention back to the present, suddenly feeling the silly, creeping, oh-so-familiar paranoia that _maybe other people could read his thoughts_ wash over him.

“I’m not—” Harry starts, but cuts himself off and looks up at the ceiling out of the corner of his eye as if he’s trying to remember a word he’s forgotten. He chews on his bottom lip for a minute. “Is that your thing, being told what to do?” he asks, voice a bit hesitant. Louis blinks, and as if he’s eager for an answer Harry lets his eyes fall back down to Louis’, a bit more serious than they were before. Louis is having trouble pinning down when the mood of their conversation had changed.

“Not… no, not really,” Louis says quickly; because that’s the farthest thing from ‘his thing’ he can possibly think of. Before he can really consider it too much, he blurts out, “is it yours?”

Louis can see the other boy’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. For a minute he thinks Harry’s not going to answer—that he’s gone too far—but then, ever so slightly, he nods. Louis feels like someone punched the breath out of him.

He hasn’t even begun to formulate a response to that when the door behind him swings open and he spins around, surprised.

“Sorry, did I interrupt something?” Zayn asks cheekily, approaching his mat and taking a swig from his opened water bottle before screwing the top back on tightly. It’s as if a switch has been flipped behind Harry’s eyes—suddenly, they’re no longer serious but instead crinkled around the edges again as he smiles at Zayn and shakes his head.

“Not at all, mate,” he says, leaning close to Louis so he can hold out his hand to Zayn. “Harry, by the way. I’ve seen you around here a few times. You two know each other, yeah?”

Zayn shakes Harry’s hand enthusiastically. “This old man here?” he teases, gesturing toward Louis.

(“I’m only a year older than you, ya sod,” he mumbles in defense, but neither of the boys seem to hear him. He’s not quite sure if he cares.)

“Yeah,” Zayn continues, “we’re roommates unfortunately. Got landed with him a few years ago and haven’t been able to shake him since.” Louis barks out a laugh and pushes Zayn, who stumbles off his mat but catches himself before falling to the ground.

“Oh piss off,” Louis says, grinning. “Have you already forgotten the tea I made for you, this morning? So ungrateful,” he chides.

Harry is smiling at the both of them as the door opens and ten more students file in the room, followed by Toby.

“Hello!” he says as he makes his way to the front of the room. “I’m glad you all could make it today. We’re going to be a bit of a faster-paced class than our usual sessions, so be prepared to take frequent water breaks if you start to get dehydrated or dizzy.”

The new arrivals lay out their mats on the other side of Harry—there are only thirteen of them, so they all fit neatly into the front row, Toby standing in front of them with his back to the wall-length mirror.

“Now then, let’s get started.”

Louis soon learns the other seven steps in the sun salutation cycle. In fact, he’s quite sure he’ll never forget any of the twelve steps in the sun salutation cycle. He thinks he’s possibly done more sun salutations today than he’s ever done of anything in his entire life. Probably not, but his limbs feel like gelatin and he stopped counting around twenty-five repetitions so he supposes it’s possible.

Luckily the morning class is only forty minutes long, because at the end of it Louis is pretty sure that he’s died and is currently having an out-of-body experience. He’s sweating like mad, beyond grateful that Zayn advised him to dress lightly as he feels the fabric of his sleeveless shirt stick wetly to his back. His head feels a bit dizzy and his limbs are buzzing like when they’ve been in the same position for a long time and they lose circulation, but then he moves them suddenly. He sucks deep, greedy breaths through his lips as Toby leads the class through another relaxation exercise.

“Cross your legs, fold your hands in front of your heart, and lean forward— _Namaste_ ,” Toby is saying, and the class follows suit. Slowly, the fourteen people in the room begin to rise at their own pace and collect their things. Louis sits a moment longer than the rest of them to catch his breath, then leans forward and uses his hands to push himself up off the ground.

Turning to face Harry, Louis is pleased to find that the other boy is already looking at him. Louis notices that he’s twisting his fingers of his right hand into the hem of his shirt, like maybe he’s nervous. He finds it rather endearing.

“So,” Louis says, deciding to take charge. “You said something about smoothies, if I recall? Lucky for you, I _love_ smoothies. And then I could walk you home, yeah?”

Harry blinks at him. “Uh, I live in one of the lofts upstairs,” Harry says. Louis feels like he’s missing something.

“Oh, alright, I just thought maybe—”

Harry cuts him off before he can continue explaining himself. “But yeah, smoothies. Let’s get smoothies,” he says quickly. “And then you can walk me to my door. It’s up a dauntingly steep staircase, I might need help.”

Louis feels a bit like a giddy primary school kid at a carnival. “Yeah? That sound good to you?” he asks, and Harry nods.

Louis turns to tell Zayn, who already has his rolled-up mat tucked under his armpit and his socks back on. “Don’t bother mate, I’ve been eavesdropping,” he says. “Go get smoothies with Harry. I’m going to the library after I drop you off at home, so I’m gonna shower here and then I’ll meet you outside, yeah? Take your time, I brought some Foucault to keep me busy.”

Louis holds his arms out for a hug but Zayn scrunches his nose and side-steps away from him. “Get your sweaty arse away from me,” he says, wiping the soft underside of his arm across his forehead to mop up the sweat dripping from his hairline. “You stink.”

“Well so do you!” Louis laughs, chasing Zayn toward the door. His flat-mate darts out of the room, closely followed by a few other members of the class, and Louis returns to his mat to carefully roll it up.

“He’s kind of right though,” Louis says after he finishes and rests the mat in the crook of his left arm, hand on his hip. “We do smell. What d’you think we should do?” It takes all of his self-control not to waggle his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry shrugs. “It’s a natural smell,” he says. “I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

Louis can't help but like him more and more every time he opens his mouth. “A man after my own heart,” he swoons. “C’mon then, let’s go.”

The two walk out of the studio side-by-side with their mats held between them, bumping elbows every so often as they make their way down the small hallway and even after the room widens up into a lobby, because why not? Harry pulls a pair of dark denim skinny jeans over his bike shorts and they put their shoes on next to each other. Louis swears Toby’s giving them a look from behind the counter.

Stepping out into the bright morning sun, he and Harry both stop to adjust to the light for a moment, taking deep breaths of fresh air that feels refreshing on their heated lungs and bodies.

“Which way, then?” Louis asks finally, turning to Harry. “I assume you have a destination in mind, yeah?” Harry nods and starts heading down the sidewalk, Louis close behind him.

“There’s this shop about a block over, next to my work. They may or may not have my order memorized there. They’re bloody addicting,” he says as Louis catches up to him, matching his gait and letting their elbows bump together again.

Harry grins and for the first time Louis really notices how prominent the other boy’s dimples are. He wants to stick his finger in one. He wants to stick his finger in a lot of things, but that’s not the point right now. The point is getting to know as many facts about this gorgeous boy as he can by the time Zayn is finished with his shower.

“Sounds like they might be putting something other than fruit in those smoothies,” Louis says with a faux-serious face, “if you know what I mean.” Harry smiles even bigger and Louis worries that his face might just split in half.

“Wow, your jokes are nearly as awful as mine,” he muses, and Louis can’t even care enough to act offended, he’s so happy.

“Oh yeah? Let’s hear one then,” he says, bumping his hip into Harry’s. The taller boy stumbles a bit but regains his footing, a bit gracelessly but cute all the same. He hums in thought for a moment.

“Knock knock,” he says, and Louis cracks up at that. He’s not sure if he’s ever heard a knock knock joke from anyone over the age of ten.

“Who’s there?” he asks playfully.

Harry holds his head up a little higher, pursing his lips like he’s trying not to laugh. “Amish.”

“Amish who?”

“Really?” Harry says, snickering to himself a bit before continuing. “You don’t look like a shoe.”

Louis stops walking. It takes Harry a few steps to notice and stop walking as well, considering how hard he’s laughing at his own pun. “D’you get it?” he asks, turning around and bending forward, resting his hands on his knees like he can’t stand up from how funny he is.

“You’re right, your jokes are definitely worse,” Louis says as he starts walking again, passing up Harry on the sidewalk. He can’t help but smile even though the pun was rubbish.

He hears footsteps behind him and soon Harry catches back up to Louis, falling into step with him as they make their way toward the corner.

“Take a right here,” Harry says. “Cross the block at the end of the street, and then it’s to the left.”

Louis nods. "So," he says, “what were you up to yesterday, at the studio? You weren’t taking a class or anything, but you were like… in the toilet.”

Harry looks a bit embarrassed.

“Oh, that,” he says. “Well, like I said I live above the studio, and I’ve been going there for a while so they know me pretty well. My roommate managed to bust our toilet yesterday, so Toby told me that I could use his for the time being.”

“Fun roommate,” Louis giggles.

“’s my fault,” Harry says. “I made tacos for dinner, I was just asking for disaster.”

“You said you work around the corner, yeah? Do they not have a bathroom?”

“They do, but I work at a 24-hour bakery and I’m usually the only one there during my overnight shifts so I try not to leave my station while I’m on the clock if I can help it.”

Louis is impressed. “A bakery?” he asks. “What do you do there?”

Harry looks at him like he’s stupid. “I bake,” he says.

Louis supposes he deserved that one. “Alright, what’s your favorite thing to bake, then?”

It doesn’t take Harry very long to answer. “Banana walnut muffins,” he replies.

“What’s your favorite kind of smoothie?” Louis asks him. Harry smacks his lips together adorably.

“Strawberry banana,” he says confidently, licking his bottom lip as if there were a stray drop of smoothie on it.

“Do they have anything with chocolate?” Louis wonders. Harry laughs.

“Actually, yeah, they’ve got some of those. I know they've got a mocha banana smoothie that's pretty delicious,” he says, sounding excited at the thought.

Louis chuckles. “Does everything have banana in it?”

“The best things do,” Harry says wistfully.

They’re crossing the street now, and when Louis looks up he can see the sign for the smoothie shop down the road. He jogs the last few yards to the door so that he can hold it open for Harry, who approaches slowly; long legs lazy and content to maintain a steady pace despite Louis’ haste.

“Thank you,” he says as he finally walks through the door, looking up at Louis through his eyelashes as he passes in front of him. “You’re too kind.”

They boys enter the shop together and Louis immediately notices the loud sound of multiple blenders running at once. He scrunches his nose a bit at that, and Harry seems to notice as they get in line behind two teenage girls who are currently ordering their drinks.

“We can drink them outside, on the walk back,” he says. “This place is always louder than I’d like, but they make an amazing smoothie.”

Louis scans the menu on the wall—there are more options than he could have imagined. However, the mocha banana honestly does sound the best, because he’s always had a sweet tooth. The two girls in front of them hand over their cash to the cashier and move to sit down at one of the tables to the left. Louis and Harry step forward.

“Hey there Hazza,” the girl behind the register says. She’s got chubby cheeks, fire engine red hair, a septum ring, and a smile on her face. “Strawberry banana?” she asks. Harry nods and fishes in his pocket for his wallet.

“Are these going to be together or separate?” she asks, turning to Louis.

“Together,” Harry says. “I owe him a smoothie because I nearly killed him.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Every time you tell that story it gets increasingly dramatic.”

“Either way,” Harry continues. “I’m in his debt. Get him whatever he wants. Get him a smoothie made of gold.”

“I’ll settle for a mocha banana, thanks,” he says.

Harry pouts at him. “Did you read the whole menu?” he asks, sounding worried. “Are you sure that’s what you want? I didn’t mean to rush you.”

Louis lowers his yoga mat from his arm and rests one end of it on the floor, leaning on the other end. “Don’t get your panties in a twist” he says, sort of seriously but mostly as an experiment to help solve the blushing question. Louis is pleased to see that Harry’s cheeks flush again—it had definitely been more him than the heat earlier, then.

He continues on speaking. “I read the menu but like I said earlier, I’m craving something choclatey. I’m not a very big fan of coffee or caramel, so that rules out the other mocha-infused options up there. I’m positive that’s what I want.”

Harry seems to visibly relax at Louis’ words, and he wonders if the other boy is always this concerned about everything. It occurs to him idly that he wouldn’t mind being the one to calm Harry down, if he always looks this pliant and content afterwards.

Harry opens his wallet and pulls out a tenner, dropping it into the girl’s hand and telling her to to keep the change as a tip. She thanks him and finishes entering their orders into the computer next to the register.

They step to the side, and the sound of blenders picks up again as someone in the back room starts making their smoothies. Louis hadn’t realized that it had ever stopped.

“Hazza?” Louis asks with quirked eyebrows. Harry laughs.

“Yeah, uh. Secondary school nickname, kinda stuck I suppose. My mate Niall came up with it, I think?” He points to the girl at the register with the dyed hair and the piercing. “That’s Leah, she went to school with us as well, so…”

He trails off as he grabs two straws from a cup on the counter in front of them. He rips off one end of each paper wrapper and shimmies them down the straws without touching the plastic, handing one to Louis. Instead of grabbing it with his hands, he leans over and closes his lips around the straw, pausing for a moment before taking it from Harry’s hand. He thinks he’d like to start a competition with himself to see how red he could get the other boy’s cheeks to turn.

A short girl walks out from the back room clutching two foam cups with plastic lids, and hands one to each boy. They pop their straws in the top and throw away their wrappers, waving goodbye to Leah as they walk out of the store together.

It’s not much quieter outside, but at least there’s not the sound of blender motors whirring anymore. They cross the street in the direction of the yoga studio, and Louis closes his lips around the straw again, sipping on his smoothie.

It’s quite possibly the best thing he’s ever drank through a straw in his entire life.

“Oh fuck, this is good,” he says, sucking in another mouthful.

“I’m glad you like it,” Harry laughs, sipping lazily on his own smoothie. “Be careful though, you’ve got to drink it slow or you’ll get brain freeze.”

Louis wishes Harry would have mentioned that earlier as he cringes, pinching the bridge of his nose in pain. “Yeah, I see that,” he says through gritted teeth. “Ow. Shit—fuck—bloody _arse bollocks_. _Ow_.” The sharp ache fades after about half a minute, and Louis lets his hand fall to his side again. “Thanks for the warning,” he huffs out. “Sorry for my sailor’s mouth.”

Harry shakes his head. “Incredible,” he says. “You look like such a docile person, but then you open your mouth and… and these _things_ just come out.”

“Words,” Louis says condescendingly. “We call them words.”

The dimples are back and Louis can’t stop staring at them. He takes another sip of his smoothie to hide his own smile, careful not to drink too much this time.

“And you’re cheeky, too,” Harry continues. “I like that. Cheeky’s good.”

Louis’ face hurts from _smiling_ so bloody much and he honestly can’t remember the last time that was the case. They’re approaching Vandon Street again and Louis wishes he could ask to stay longer, but his clothes are still sweaty, he doesn’t have a car, and he doesn’t want to be a burden.

“Really though,” Louis says as they round the corner. “Thank you for this, I appreciate it. It’s the perfect thing, after being in that hot studio for nearly an hour. I feel refreshed.” Harry hums contentedly as he sips on his smoothie.

“Not a problem,” he says. “Thanks for not hating me after I nearly sent you to the hospital.”

“I’ve seen worse injuries than that one,” Louis responds somberly, “believe it or not.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “You must be a very brave man,” he whispers. Louis snorts at that, unable to keep a straight face any longer.

“You’re possibly the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met,” he tells him affectionately. Harry perks up at that.

“Thank you,” he says, “that’s so kind, I don’t know how I’ll repay you.”

“Buy me more smoothies?” Louis asks hopefully, and it’s mostly a joke. Mostly.

“Tell me more bad jokes and we’ve got a deal,” Harry agrees.

They reach the studio again, but Zayn isn’t outside so Louis figures he probably has another five minutes or so. In addition to falling asleep anywhere and everywhere, Zayn is also partial to taking exceptionally long showers. Louis is more of a "get in, do what you’ve got to do, and get out" sort of person.

Harry keeps walking past the door to the studio, taking a left down a narrow alleyway and approaching a metal fire escape on the side of the building. Louis follows behind him curiously. “Is this the only way to get up?” he asks. “Looks a bit creaky.”

“There’s an elevator,” Harry shrugs. “But I don’t need it, so I don’t use it.”

“Of course you don’t,” Louis says under his breath. He wants to be annoyed, but all he feels is fond.

“I’ve got two working legs, why not use ‘em?” Harry asks, and Louis is taken aback that he could hear him. He nods in agreement, watching Harry’s bum in his dark wash jeans as he ascends the stairs.

“Suppose you’re right,” he says. “What floor do you live on?” They’re climbing at a leisurely pace, and Louis looks down to see that they’re only on the second floor.

“Sixth,” Harry says.

Louis is dumbfounded. “And you _never_ use the elevator?” He’s not quite sure if he understands this boy very well, but god damnit is he going to try.

“What are you, the police?” Harry laughs. “Alright, you caught me, sometimes I use the elevator. But I try not to.”

“What, when you’re around  other people?” Louis offers teasingly. “So they feel lazy for using the elevator and you get to show off your fantastic bum?”

If Louis could see Harry, he knows his face would be flushed again. He can’t be any younger than 19, but he’s got this innocent blushing schoolboy thing going on that makes Louis want to ruin him. He can't remember the last time he was this forward with someone.

“Maybe,” Harry replies airily. They’re rounding the fourth floor now, and Harry starts walking more quickly.

“Oi, slow down, I’m enjoying the view,” Louis whines as he picks up his pace to keep up with Harry, who laughs and walks even faster in response.

“Then work for it!” he says, and Louis groans, hastening his pace up the last two flights of stairs. Harry stops at the door on the sixth floor landing, pulling a small ring of keys from his pocket and fingering them absently, smoothie clutched in the other hand.

“Well,” he says, a bit breathless, patches of color high on his cheeks. “Thanks for walking me up here; I wouldn’t have made it without you. Did you want to…?” Harry trails off and Louis can only assume he’s inviting him inside as he crooks his finger toward the door behind him. He considers it for a moment (sweaty clothes and all) before he remembers that his phone is in Zayn’s car still, and even after three years he hasn’t memorized his flat-mate’s number so he has no way of letting him know that he’s staying.

“Unfortunately I’ve got a mate waiting for me downstairs and a few responsibilities calling my name at home,” he says, disappointment seeping into his voice.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Harry says. “Just figured I’d offer.”

Louis smiles crookedly at him. “I appreciate it,” he says softly, catching Harry’s eye as he fiddles with his keys some more. Their gazes lock for a moment, and Louis wishes he could kiss him but knows it’s far too early in the morning to be making reckless decisions like that.

“Another time, then?” Harry asks hopefully, taking another sip from his smoothie. Louis nods and pats him on the shoulder, looking for one more excuse to touch him before leaving.

“Another time, for sure,” he agrees, and Harry smiles. Nodding, he turns to unlock his door. Louis doesn’t move, and Harry looks back at him as he steps inside his flat.

“Just making sure you get inside alright,” he shrugs.

“My superhero,” Harry says dramatically, clutching the hand with his keys in it to his heart.

“I’ll see you downstairs on Tuesday night, yeah?” Louis asks, and Harry nods.

“Tuesday night, definitely.”

“Well Harry, it’s been fun, thanks again for the delicious smoothie,” he says, waving and turning back toward the stairs. He’s about to make his way down when a small voice stops him.

“Lou?”

Louis turns back around to face Harry, who’s leaning on the doorframe now. His smoothie is gone and he’s holing a pen that he must’ve picked up from inside while Louis had his back turned. He beckons for Louis to approach him, and he does so hesitantly.

Harry reaches out and boldly grabs Louis’ hand not holding the smoothie as soon as he gets within arm’s reach, flattening out Louis’ palm and hunching over it with his tongue between his teeth as he carefully writes a series of numbers.

“My mobile,” he says, “in case, y’know, you want to text me or something.”

Louis feels like he’s floating. He waits until Harry’s done writing, then brings his hand to his mouth to blow the ink dry before making a fist around the other boy’s number.

“I definitely want to text you or something,” he says. “Have a good day, Harry.”

Harry waves, pinky out again, as Louis turns back toward the stairs. They seem shorter on the way down, and before he knows it he’s at the bottom again, grinning like an idiot. Zayn’s leaned up against the building with his face in a book and a cigarette between his lips. He looks up as Louis approaches.

“Ah, you were faster than I expected you to be,” he says, closing the book with his forefinger inside to mark his page. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, letting his palm fall open so that Zayn can see the number written in blue ink. “Take me home, I need to fucking shower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty busy with trying to graduate college right now but I'm going to try to keep up a weekly posting schedule on sundays. I'll try to make an announcement on my tumblr if that's going to change. again, any constructive criticism/feedback is super appreciated!


End file.
